Just so you know, the following are thoughts written and pictures taken by me on a two week journey to Europe, which happened two weeks ago. After this is documented, who knows where this blog will go?
It's a little bit funny. You wander down various tunnels, corridors and pavilions of airports and railways, you sit for hours next to people you will never see again and strike up some small talk, then try to sleep, then wait for your flight in an overpriced cafe, and wait in another line for security trying to figure out ways how you could possibly orchestrate a security breach in between flight connections, and then - all of a sudden you walk up a flight of stairs into the limelight and you're in the middle of Rome.
I went outside Termini just to see the place that has become so familiar 4 years ago, and ordered some shitty pizza at one of the many places we went to. It tasted delicious. For some reason the whole affair reminded me of James and the Hun. Wish you were here would be a gross understatement. But maybe not for James.
Angela didn't teach me nearly enough Italian. Bitch.
My metro-D looks and acts like John Travolta. I accidentally booked a 4 star hotel that you need to take the shit train to get to. It happened to be the cheapest on the website. My neighbour from below thinks I'm a freak show. But then again, he is a smoker. There is a giant ducking mirror in the main room and one in the bathroom, so that you can see yourself front front and behind at the same time. It's perfect.
Actually I take that back. The mirrors were a terrible idea. I just spent an hour posing naked on my bed. I guess I am a pose maniac after all. When I get back to NYC I will become the greatest life drawing model that ever lived. Maybe I can even find some 40 year old bored housewife painter who will make me her muse, and then I will get to live my dream of having an affair with a cougar. Can't wait. Actually I can, because I need to visit all of these museums first.
Italians are friendlier than I expected. Maybe it's because I try. Maybe it's because they feel sorry for me. Who would want to be mean to a retarded puppy?
I thought I was only going to write the important stuff. Duck you, reader. From now on, I write for myself.